Archive for Mark Cousins

I’ve just written a feature script with Alex Livingston(e), a very talented guy, who pointed out to me that you can see the eye of a duck in David Lynch’s BLUE VELVET. (above)

And this was significant since Lynch has a whole theory about the eye of the duck, which he explains below.

The clip I really wanted to show was Mark Cousins’ Scene by Scene interview, where he brings up the duck-eye theory again and gets a typically detailed elucidation of it, and we learn that movies are like ducks and each movie has a scene which is equivalent to the eye of the duck. Mark asks Lynch what the eye of the duck scene is in his latest movie, THE STRAIGHT STORY. Micro-pause. “I haven’t thought about it.”

Brilliant comic timing, but unplanned. The difference between being a comedian and simply being comic, and aware of it. At a certain point, Lynch realized that he could be a comedy character. I don’t think I understood this slightly performative, yet sincere, aspect of Lynch in the first few times I saw him speak, but looking back on them, it was always there.

RIP Shirley. One of her youngest fans, the daughter of a good friend, discovered her on “the YouTube” and was mightily taken by her performance as “the old lady baby” in this clip ~

Mark Cousins excerpts the same scene in The Story of Film, and makes the complaint that Temple is too performative, not natural enough — I think a difficult point to make stick when the kid is singing a song, but he has a point more generally. Of course ST was the consummate pro even as a toddler — what you see is an incredibly skilled artifice, amazing in one so young, and a different kind of talent than those kids who are simply able to behave onscreen. With the amazing Bobby Henrey in THE FALLEN IDOL, which Monte Hellman has called the best-directed film he’s ever seen, we have a series of authentic bits of behaviour, extracted by director Carol Reed and assembled into a narrative. AD Guy Hamilton thought Henrey couldn’t act at all, because all he saw was the effort it took from Reed to get those moments, and all the other moments which were wrong and couldn’t be used.

Shirley, of course, would have been perfect every take of every shot. It’s just a different kind of talent — and she had more of her particular kind than any other kid who’s acted on the screen.

Unsettling images from BABY TAKE A BOW, or as I call it, THE BLUE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE.

“That’s a lot of money for a dame without a head” — statue outside the Church of St Nicholas in Venice, where DON’T LOOK NOW was filmed. Forty years on and they STILL haven’t got a head on that thing.

A story from Philip Kaufman’s commentary on INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS — he was filming the climax, with Donald Sutherland gamely staggering around a catwalk high in the air in a big greenhouse, and a mutual acquaintance approached. “Is that Donald Sutherland up there?” Kaufman affirmed that it was, and his friend, with a note of panic, cried “Don’t you know he’s The Clumsiest Man Alive?”

This makes Sutherland’s cameo as “The Accident-Prone Waiter” in KENTUCKY FRIED MOVIE much funnier, but adds a frisson of terror to DON’T LOOK NOW and several other Sutherland films. As Sutherland described it to Mark Cousins in a TV interview, the scene in DLN where he dangles from a rope at ceiling level in a cavernous Venetian church was originally going to be performed by a stunt man. But, he says, rather apathetically, the stunt man “wasn’t happy about something” and in the end Sutherland volunteered and did the dangling himself. He had a kirby wire running down his sleeve to a harness, securing him so he couldn’t actually fall.

Years later Sutherland is talking to another stuntman, who congratulates him on the awe-inspiringly dangerous sequence. Sutherland demurs: “I was quite safe, I was fastened to a kirby wire…” “But you were going like this,” says the stunt man, making a twirling motion with his index finger to indicate the way Sutherland spun helplessly on his rope. “Yes, I was.” “Well, when you go like that on a kirby wire, the kirby wire breaks.”*

Sutherland actually had premonitions of doom on the movie, feeling that it was such a tragic and death-haunted tale, somebody might actually have to die while making it. Fortunately for him, that was silly.

But one of the strange pleasures of re-watching the film with students — and it unlocks fresh pleasures each time — is the number of times poor Donald falls on his ass, or nearly so, during the show. Nic Roeg has him staggering along beside canals, blundering over barges, and straddling ledges fifty feet up… It’s all a touch ungainly. Julie Christie, meanwhile, negotiates rowing boats and the like with the grace and dexterity that only the Rank Charm School can instill.

What else — ?

Odd framings, like this shot which picks up a sinister sign-post as a plank glides across the lower edge of frame like a shark’s fin.

Constant communication trouble: Sutherland speaks fluent Italian to his work crew, but whenever faced with an emotional question or a conversation with a woman, his language deserts him. “English… English…” he pleads abjectly.

Julie Christie sees a police sketch of one of the two sisters (vacationing from Scotland, though their accents are VERY English) — “It doesn’t really look like her.” “It doesn’t matter,” says Inspector Longi (how I’d love a whole series of films about his unsuccessful cases! Maybe he could team up with Harvey Keitel’s Inspector Netusil from BAD TIMING to fight crime ineffectually across Europe). He means, “It doesn’t matter since no crime has been committed and we’re no longer seeking her,” but what Christie understands, from her nonplussed expression, is obviously “It doesn’t matter if our sketches don’t resemble the people we’re looking for because that’s not their purpose.” Whole worlds of mystery open up at that thought.

The first view of Julie —

This prefigures the film’s climax, which hinges on that uncanny lurch you feel when you approach somebody you know and they turn around and it’s not them. I first got this with a woman who wasn’t my mum in the supermarket when I was small. (“His little world swung half around; the points of the compass were reversed.” ~ Chickamauga, by Ambrose Bierce.)

I was in Venice recently, making a side-trip from Pordenone on a free day after the Silent Film festival had ended, and I visited Donald’s church. It’s still there, looks the same, but doesn’t have any mosaics that I could see. They don’t let you take pictures inside as they fear the camera will steal away the Holy Spirit, I guess, but I snapped away outside. And no, I didn’t see any little figures in red macs. Fiona suggests the Venice town council should hire little people to dart about and peak from round corners wearing the appropriate plastic attire. She’s right — I think you’d only need about seven at a time to cover the city. You wouldn’t want them to become commonplace or anything.

Donald sees a glove on a window ledge. I saw a segment of orange.

*Sutherland has another great story about shooting Bertolucci’s 1900 which left him with concussion and a half-severed ear. I can tell it in the comments section if there’s interest.